


Fostered

by KingOfJacks



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Family, adopted family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-10-27 15:58:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20763029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingOfJacks/pseuds/KingOfJacks
Summary: At the end of Harry's first year, Albus Dumbledore makes a decision. A decision not to rest on past mistakes. A decision not to repeat the wrongs of yesteryear. A decision not to allow an innocent child to persist in an unhealthy, abusive environment. A decision to ask a mighty favor of an old friend. A friend older than even him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Fostered**

**Chapter One**

**By:**

**KingOfJacks**

Albus Dumbledore sat penitently in his high-backed chair, pushed snugly against the wooden edges of his desk. He was staring at the door opposite him hard enough to break it, and once or twice he had thought he might actually cause the poor thing to combust. It was quite embarrassing, really, and Albus was quite happy there was no one around to see it. He had not lost control - nor come so close to doing so - in a great many years. Still, it was impossible not to do so, given the worries weighing him down just now.

In front of him was a letter. No, that wasn’t correct. In front of him was an envelope. It was an old envelope, one of the hundreds that had been miraculously created for a single student. The Hogwarts quills had not been so overworked in centuries, though he thought they secretly enjoyed the challenge. The envelope was empty, its creases showing the echo of the bulge of papers it had held when it had been sent out before it had been magically returned to Hogwarts upon successful delivery. Across its face scrawled tidy, emerald green ink that plainly spelled out fifteen words that gnawed at his heart.

_Mr. H. Potter_

_The Cupboard Under the Stairs_

_Number 4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging, Surrey_

Even now to look at it caused Albus Dumbledore to shudder in a way he could not remember doing since he was a boy. He remembered all to clearly the guilt he had felt then - the guilt he still felt today. It was magnified now, reflected again by the words on the envelope in front of him. Albus had carried the guilt of Arianna’s death with him his entire life, and he feared idly that he might very well carry the guilty of Harry Potter’s childhood with him for what remained of his life. He feared idly because he was not altogether worried about the guilt staying with him. Certainly, there were few who could say he did not deserve it.

Albus’ attention returned to the far door, but he felt no lash of magic against its surface. It would remain uncharred for the time being. Today was the second week of June. The final exams were wrapping up just now. The students would have a little less than a week of complete downtime to enjoy with their friends before they embarked on a train to London and to home on the third Wednesday of the month. For most, it had been an entirely uneventful end of term. The fifth years - those who had finished with their O.W.L.s - were no doubt in their common rooms breathing the last of their panic into paper bags. The seventh years were full of doubt and excitement and fear and anticipation at this, their final week at Hogwarts. The fourth years were no doubt looking forward anxiously at the stressful year ahead of them. Of course, it was the first years that kept Albus’ attention just now.

They’d made quite a show of themselves this year. Forgetful little Neville Longbottom. Snide little Draco Malfoy. Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age. Ron Weasley, a true Gryffindor and a truer friend. And, of course, Harry Potter. Madame Pomfrey still hadn’t cleared the boy yet. He was suffering down in the Hospital Wing, bored out of his mind and wishing for nothing more than to be out with his friends. Albus’ face crumpled. Oh, but that was another failure. A student hurt on his watch. A student he could not stand to see hurt anymore. Whatever errant thought he’d had of returning Harry to his relatives had vanished in the face of his troubles at the end of term. Albus was no seer, but he believed with all his heart that Hogwarts would not be the safest place for Harry Potter. What dangers the future held, he did not know, but he would not host Harry Potter in danger at school whilst also sending him home to a wholly different kind of danger during the summers. Albus, regretfully, had no control over one of those things, but he could certainly exercise a measure of control over the other.

Albus startled - yet another first in quite some time - as a knock echoed from the other side of the door. The Headmaster straightened himself, momentarily flustered. Truly, he was lost in thought. He ought to have been able to detect the activation of his ward scheme, warning him of a visitor. He so loved using it to appear mystically omniscient after all. Finding himself, he called, “Enter.”

“Headmaster,” Minerva was greeting him before she’d fully opened the door. Albus could see her face was strained, the boundaries of her propriety being pushed to their absolute limit. He forced himself not to chuckle. Albus supposed he _could_ have told her a bit more about today’s proceedings, but that would not have been nearly as fun. “Your...guest...has arrived.”

Albus threw away his notions of amusement. There was business to handle. He nodded firmly, his mouth a determined line. “Send him in, Minerva,” he commanded. More gently, he added, “And then go and relax. Exams are over. You deserve a bit of rest.”

Minerva, ever dutiful, furrowed her brow. “You will not need my assistance?” Something in her voice suggested she was not altogether disappointed. Understandable given his guest.

Albus smiled benignly at her. “Not with this. He is an old friend.”

Minerva nodded once and turned, giving Albus’ guest a wide berth as he passed by her through the doorway to the Headmaster’s office.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Headmaster?” the man asked in an impossibly perfect voice.

**_(*)_**

Harry was gazing out the window again. He’d been doing that a lot this train ride. It was starting to annoy him. It hadn’t at first. He’d welcomed the state of mind - the complete lack of thought. But every time he delved too far into it, some part of himself would remind him he only had so much time left with Ron and Hermione before he wouldn’t see them for three months. That always shocked him out of his reprieve enough to find the conversation again. But only for so long. He was back to staring out the window again very soon. Like now.

In his hands, he held a letter. It was thin - just a single page - and creased as if it had been folded over and over several times. Upon its surface was a tidy, looping script spelling out words that Harry had all but memorized, but that he was still completely unsure of how to feel about it. Held tightly enough in one hand that the page was taut, Harry was flapping it anxiously against the surface of his off hand and his leg.

“Really, Harry you _must_ stop doing that,” Hermione all but snapped, drawing his attention away from the window. “The sound is driving me positively batty!”

Harry blinked, looked down at his lap to where he was still mindlessly flapping the parchment and consciously willed himself to stop. It took a moment, but his hand acquiesced. He looked up sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Hermione answered with silent forgiveness. Ron glanced at the paper warily. His mouth full of Chocolate Frog, he asked, “What is it anyway? You’ve been holding it like it bit you the whole ride.”

“Chew your food before you talk, Ronald,” Hermione rolled her eyes, exasperated. Still, she turned to Harry, waiting. Clearly, she was as interested in the answer as Ron was. Harry couldn’t blame them. It wasn’t as if he often kept things from them.

Harry spoke hesitantly. “You guys know my relatives?”

Hermione pursed her lips. Harry hadn’t said much about his home life - understandable given what little she knew - but she disapproved greatly of the way her closest friend had to live. “Yes,” she said evenly.

“Is that it? Awe, don’t get down, Harry. Maybe it won’t be so bad. It has been almost a year since they seen you.” That was Ron. Tactless, as always. But trying.

Harry smiled slightly, at his friend and not what he was about to say. He waved the letter around, gesturing. “That’s just it. I don’t think it much matters.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione frowned.

Harry sighed. Talking about anything to do with the Dursleys - even this objectively good news - was not something he enjoyed doing. “It’s a letter from Dumbledore,” he explained. “He says he’s made arrangements for me not to stay at the Dursleys this summer.”

Hermione did not look the gift horse in the mouth. “But that’s wonderful, Harry!” she cried.

“Yeah,” Harry muttered non committedly, but it was too quiet for either of his friends to hear. He was still completely unsure what to make of all of this.

Ron, always one to ask the obvious, scratched his head. “But then where are you staying?”

Harry gestured to the letter again. “With someone named Carlisle Cullen and his family. Dumbledore says he’s a friend. A good man.” Those were the exact words in the letter, as if Dumbledore thought Harry might not trust the man. Then again, after his year, he might not have.

Hermione frowned thoughtfully. “Carlisle?” she repeated. “That’s an old name. Sounds Pureblood.”

Ron was already shaking his head. “Nah, but Cullen doesn’t.”

“Another Muggle then?” Hermione suggested.

Ron didn’t seem to agree with this either. “How would Dumbledore know him?”

“You don’t think Dumbledore only associates with wizards do you, Ronald?”

“He might have! I don’t know who he goes about with!”

Harry was already shifting his gaze back to the window. The buzz of Ron and Hermione’s conversation was fading into something he wouldn’t even hear. Unconsciously, his hand started to flap the paper again. The sound of it slapping against his hand and leg was oddly comforting.

Hermione and Ron brought up interesting questions. Thinking on it - and Harry had been doing nothing but thinking on it - Dumbledore’s letter had been vague to the point of almost purposeful deception. Carlisle Cullen was a good man who Harry could trust. Harry would be staying with him for the duration of the summer. Carlisle Cullen would pick him up at King’s Cross and drop him off again on September the first to resume his schooling. That was the gist of the letter in far more flowery words than his own. Nothing had been said of how Dumbledore knew the man, nor who the man really was. Harry didn’t know if he was a wizard. He didn’t know what he could say around the man. It was quite ridiculous how little Harry knew about him, given that he was about to be the man’s hostage for over two months.

He frowned at himself. He supposed that was unfair. It wasn’t as if he was unhappy that he didn’t have to go back to the Dursleys. If he never saw them again...if he never saw a cupboard again! Harry grit his teeth. He didn’t like to dwell on it. It tended to make him bitter, and that was not what he wanted to be.

“Did the letter say anything else, Harry?” Hermione’s voice cut into his thoughts again.

This time, Harry didn’t take his eyes off the window. “He has a big family,” Harry all but mumbled, but Hermione caught it. “Five kids. All older.”

“Well that will be fun!” Hermione tried to say brightly. “Like big brothers and sisters!”

Harry let Hermione have her optimism, but he was not very hopeful on that front.

**_(*)_**

The train ride lasted another two hours after that. Harry didn’t turn away from the window again, and Ron and Hermione didn’t try to pull him away again. Hermione had eventually forced his hand down against his leg, preventing any more of the incessant flapping, but that had been it. Harry allowed a bit of life to come back to him as they hauled their luggage down to disembark. He remembered more clearly now that this would be the last he’d see of his friends - his two first and best friends - for months, and he hugged them both fiercely despite Ron’s protests.

Hermione was the first to leave them. Her parents were crowded close to the tracks, looking out of place and a bit uncomfortable amongst all of the wizards. She ran to them eagerly, the weight of her trunk behind her making her run lopsided. Harry watched her embrace the both of them. She had time enough to turn and wave goodbye before she disappeared into the throng of people. She would write, she’d said. Harry believed her. Ron was next. His brothers poured out of the train not far behind him like the red sea, converging into one location if for no other reason than the sheer ease they had finding each other among the black and blonde haired students. Not long after their union, their parents were there. There were hugs and kisses and pats and handshakes. They too left, albeit less gracefully and with more attention.

Which left Harry.

He rubbed absently at his shoulder, suddenly a lot more afraid than he’d been with company. Coming to King’s Cross had been bad enough. The Dursleys had left him stranded, and he’d feared horribly that he wouldn’t find the platform to Hogwarts and that he’d be left with no way to get anywhere remotely safe and comfortable. Harry had that fear again now, in the opposite direction. He was again alone in King’s Cross with no idea of where to go. Dumbledore’s letter had not provided a hint of a description of Carlisle Cullen.

With little else to do, Harry took a firm hold on the handle of his trunk, ensured Hedwig was secured tightly and set off, wandering up and down the platform, debating how long he should wait before exiting onto the Muggle side of the station. If the man was a Muggle, he may not be entirely sure of how to get to Platform 9 ¾.

Then Harry saw him, and he would admit he paused. Carlisle Cullen - and he could be no one else - was a man of average height with neatly combed blonde hair and abnormally pale skin. Everything about him screamed of perfection that Harry did not know was possible. From his stance, standing near to the wall of the platform to the easy smile on his face as he looked around, his eyes passing over students and parents with some odd amusement. His clothes stood out. He was wearing black slacks and a dark gray turtleneck sweater that hugged his neck all the way to the bottom of his chin. Definitely Muggle, Harry thought. He would have known this man was Carlisle Cullen instinctually. He needed nothing else beyond that intuition. Not even the cardboard sign he held in his hand that spelled out ‘Harry Potter’ like an airport limo driver waiting to pick up his passenger.

It took Harry a bit to figure out how to walk again. The man’s appearance had robbed him of his higher brain functions for a moment. But he found them again and set off at a quick pace towards the man. He was suddenly much more curious to get to know Carlisle Cullen. He stopped in front of him, gazing up into eyes that were impossibly colored. Gold. Gold like honey. Like warm sunlight. Like the crosses that had adorned the walls of the church the Dursleys had taken him too when they themselves decided to go. Gold like everything that was gold but so much better than all of that.

“I’m Harry Potter,” he managed to say.

That seemed to be all it took. Carlisle Cullen flung the carboard sign lazily in the direction of a trash can - it landed perfectly - and smiled at him. “So you are.” He spoke with an accent that Harry couldn’t place in his dazed state.

He took Harry’s trunk from him without asking, reaching to take hold of the handle. Harry might have protested, but the man’s hand brushed against his own and he instinctively jerked it back against the cold. He didn’t know people could be that cold. Carlisle Cullen had already begun to walk off - in the direction of the barrier - when Harry’s older lessons came back to him. Stranger danger was a bit overblown, but he didn’t really know the man after all.

“Sorry,” he called after him. Carlisle Cullen paused, turning back to him with the same indulgent smile. “Are you Mr. Cullen?”

“Carlisle, please,” he requested easily. “Yes, I am.”

“Sorry, it’s just,” Harry trailed off. He hadn’t really known where he was going with that sentence. “Well, I don’t really know you, you see.”

Carlisle continued to smile, but he turned around and swept back over to Harry in what seemed to be far too few steps for the distance. Casually he reached into his pocket and extended a folded piece of parchment to him. Harry gazed at it for a moment, his eyes flicking back and forth between it and the man who was offering it. But Harry found that gazing too much into those golden eyes distracted him, and so he took the paper and unfolded it.

It was nothing substantial. The date, the time, the platform number and a summarization of how to find it. Boring, really. Except it was written in Dumbledore’s handwriting. Harry would know. He’d been staring at those looping letters for three days now.

Harry returned the paper which seemed to vanish in Carlisle’s hands, so quickly had he pocketed it. “Sorry,” he mumbled sheepishly.

Carlisle laughed. It was a pleasant sound. “You’re very cautious for your age, Harry,” he told him warmly. “That is not a bad thing. But we must get going. We don’t have all day.”

Carlisle led him on. He passed through the barrier at a casual walk - something Harry didn’t know was actually possible - and was halfway down Platform 9 by the time Harry had followed him through. Strangely, Harry wasn’t really worried about Carlisle’s pace. He didn’t think for a moment the man would lose track of him, let alone leave him. Still, he kept a steady pace through the station, taking an oddly out of the way route that Harry knew was not very well planned. They could have saved a lot of time if they’d cut between the station’s buildings. Carlisle seemed to prefer the cool air of King Cross’ interior though, and Harry was not in a position to argue. Eventually, Carlisle’s route ended at a parking deck. Carlisle entered into the first elevator and punched in the number for the bottom deck. It was two floors below, and Carlisle’s car was waiting for them just to the left of the elevator.

Harry gazed at the car appreciatively. It was nothing special. A two door. Sleek. Silver. The roof was the soft cloth of a convertible. Nothing too special, but better than anything Uncle Vernon had ever driven. Harry decided it would be polite to say so. “I like your car,” he said as Carlisle finished placing his trunk in the car’s boot. He handled the heavy luggage with such ease, Harry thought someone must have snuck a feather-weight charm on it.

Hedwig’s cage secured in his hand, Carlisle turned and smiled at him wryly. “Thank you, but it’s a rental.” He passed Hedwig off to Harry and climbed into the driver’s seat, deliberating momentarily as if he was unsure which side of the car he was actually going to climb into. As if Harry could drive.

Somewhat confused, Harry placed Hedwig’s cage in the back seat as comfortably as he could before he climbed into the passenger seat and buckled himself in. Harry hated how odd he felt in the front seat. It was never a place he’d been allowed to be before. He shrugged off the uncomfortable feeling.

“A rental?” he repeated, not understanding.

Carlisle turned the key, the engine purring quietly but satisfyingly to life. He was already pulling out when he answered, “Yes. I only needed something to get me to the station and back.”

“I don’t understand,” Harry said, his head suddenly pressed back against the seat’s headrest. The leather was really very soft. “Where are we going?”

“The airport,” he answered easily. “I’m afraid you’re not done travelling for the day, Harry. Terribly sorry.”

“The airport? Wha-where are we going?” he said again.

If Carlisle was put off by Harry’s repetitive questions, he didn’t show it. “My family keeps a permanent residence overseas. A town called Forks. Washington State.”

Harry’s brain took a moment to catch up to all this information. “Washington _State_? The United States? America!?” His voice had grown more frantic with every question. He knew where the accent was from now.

Carlisle seemed a little amused. “Yes, of course,” he said as if it were extremely natural that Harry was about to fly overseas for the first time in his life. “It’s a nonstop flight to Seattle. My daughter Alice will be waiting for us. We’ll drive down to Forks from there.”

Harry was quite amazed that the first thing out of his mouth was, “I don’t have a passport.”

Almost nonchalantly, Carlisle reached into his other pocket - the pocket that had not had the letter from Dumbledore - and handed him a freshly minted passport with his name and his picture on it. Harry leafed through it dumbly. “How-?”

“Amazing what magic can do,” Carlisle smiled.

Harry turned sharply to the man. “You…” he trailed off, unwilling to say the words.

“Know about magic?” Carlisle finished for him, taking his eyes off the road to look at him. He nodded, “Yes.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t know why it was such a relief that this man knew his secret, but it was. “You’re a wizard then.”

It was not a question, and so Harry was surprised when Carlisle answered, “No.”

“But then how-?” Harry stuttered. “The Statute of Secrecy. Muggles can’t…”

Carlisle suddenly drummed his fingers against the steering wheel in thought. “I wonder if the Hogwarts curriculum has changed,” he said more to himself. Louder, he asked, “What did you study this year, Harry? Your classes.”

Surprised by the sudden change of topic, Harry blinked. It took him a moment to think of an answer. “Uh, lots of things,” he said. “Potions. Herbology. Charms.”

“Defense Against the Dark Arts?” Carlisle asked, though he already knew the answer.

Harry dutifully suppressed the memory of Quirrel’s face and nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed. “That one was my favorite.”

“Good,” Carlisle said seeming genuinely pleased to hear this. “Then you’ll remember your lessons.”

Harry had the sudden notion that he was about to be quizzed and gulped. But what Carlisle said next was infinitely worse than anything he’d expected.

“Tell me, Harry,” Carlisle said almost conversationally, but there was something else beneath his voice, “how you would identify a Vampire.”

Harry froze at the implication, staring across the car at Carlisle Cullen in undisguised horror. His mouth worked but no sound came out. Now that he said it...cold skin, unearthly beauty, a desire to avoid going outside on a suspiciously sunny day in London.

_Carlisle Cullen is a safe man_, Dumbledore’s letter had said. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t a man at all.

Carlisle sighed, but he was still smiling slightly. “Best to explain this before we get on the plane I think.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was posted and removed from this site a number of months ago due to my belief at the time that I would be unable to properly support it and my desire to clear stories that would be incomplete from my profile. That will not be the case this time, and you can rest assured that Fostered will be completed. The story will follow Harry through all seven years of Hogwarts, following canon in places and diverging from canon in others. The Cullens will, of course, play a major part in all of this, and the effect of a loving, supportive and powerful family behind Harry will affect the world in various ways.
> 
> Chapters will be posted weekly on Tuesdays.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time the plane landed in Seattle, Harry had managed to calm down. Carlisle had explained everything very rationally and calmly in the car, but it had still taken almost half of the overseas flight for Harry to escape from the edge of hyperventilating - something Carlisle had endured with remarkable patience. In a calmer state of mind now, Harry reflected - as he had on the plane - that Carlisle was almost certainly telling the truth.

Harry remembered his lessons about Vampires with special clarity. Vampires interested him. They had always interested him. Hearing about the real ones, no matter how terrifying, continued to interest him. Those three classes had been his favorite classes of the year. He remembered very clearly, though, that his lessons had included no references to ‘vegetarian’ Vampires as Carlisle claimed he and his family were. His books had indicated no possibility that a Vampire’s diet could be anything but the established norm, and until he had seen Carlisle in person, Harry been content to accept that as fact.

Still, the things he remembered from his lessons lined up with the physical evidence Carlisle exposited well enough for Harry to believe him. Most noticeably was Carlisle’s complete and total control. He exuded no sign at all that he was even remotely affected by the veritable feast surrounding him. Harry, having read all about the capabilities of a Vampire, had no doubt that Carlisle could gleefully slaughter everyone on this plane with it still in flight and flit out of the door the moment it landed without anyone seeing him. But he didn’t, and nothing gave any sign that he wanted to. Next was Carlisle’s eyes. Harry’s books had told him that they were the surest way to know a Vampire, as if their unnatural good looks weren’t enough. They were blood red. It was a fact. An undisputed fact. Vampire’s had crimson eyes and there was nothing else to say about the matter. But Carlisle’s were gold. Rich, warm gold. Harry had honestly been so convinced of his textbook’s assertion about eye color that he had called Carlisle a liar.

Carlisle had smiled, lightly squeezed on the steering wheel and then removed his hand to show Harry the result. A perfect indentation of Carlisle’s curved fist in the wheel’s shape where he had only exuded the barest pressure. Harry was convinced.

Lastly was Carlisle’s mannerisms. Harry’s books described Vampires as predators. Prowlers. Animalistic and almost savage. Harry had seen beyond the prejudice of that to what was actually being said. Vampires did not blend well with humans. No better than lions blended with sheep. But Carlisle...well, it was not entirely fair to say he blended. Disregarding his unnatural beauty, he was every bit the predator his books said he was. Oh, he walked with perfect human mannerisms. There was no prowling or preying in his steps. But the way he moved made others move around him, skittish and scared like a gazelle waiting for a pounce. Still, he was entirely civilized, and there was no one he spoke directly to who did not leave the interaction feeling slightly better for having had the man’s attention. Harry found himself a trifle jealous.

“Harry?” Carlisle’s soft voice reached him.

Harry jumped a bit, surprised out of his thoughts. He’d been so engrossed, he hadn’t noticed they had disembarked and were moving through the Seattle International Airport.

“Are you alright?” Carlisle asked him.

Harry knew what he was asking, and it wasn’t about motion sickness or culture shock. Harry nodded slowly. “I think so.”

Carlisle visibly relaxed. His smile was easy. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “Quite frankly, I was worried about being the one to tell you all of this. My family is quite eager to meet you, and they would have been very upset if you were averse to them as a first impression.”

Harry was glad that he had come to terms with things so quickly. He didn’t want to upset any Vampires. He was certain he wouldn’t feel very at ease, but he would at least not shy away from them.

“There is one thing I feel I must warn you about though,” Carlisle said suddenly and here Harry’s heart tightened. Was this the part where Carlisle revealed it had all been a very careful strategy to get Harry very far from the people who knew him so he could be snack. Carlisle continued, unaware of Harry’s sudden paralysis. “My family. They’re like me. Vegetarians. But it doesn’t come as easy to them.”

He saw Harry’s expression and rushed ahead. “They don’t cheat, and they won’t hurt you,” he assured him. “I would never allow it. But I have had a lot longer to practice than they have. I just mean to tell you, Harry, that if you see the effort on their faces...well, please be aware that it is an effort they have to deal with and do not judge them too harshly for it.”

Harry relaxed slowly. Carlisle’s words made sense. By what little he had gathered, Harry though that Carlisle was quite old and that his family was - while still aged - not nearly as far along as he was. He could not expect every Vampire he met to be as well-adjusted as the first he had met, Harry supposed. And it wasn’t like they were all bad. They were apparently excited to meet him. They were happy to house him and keep him away from the Dursleys. For that he was almost prepared to be a meal.

Harry shuddered suddenly. He decided he wasn’t yet prepared to be that blasé about the whole thing.

Here in Seattle the clouds covered over the sun like a thick blanket, and Carlisle passed out of the building without any hesitation. It was drizzling lightly, and the clouds looked like they were considering giving everyone a proper rain later in the day - something Harry had heard happened a lot in this part of America. This time, Carlisle didn’t lead him to a parking deck or something similar. In fact, he barely led him at all. His destination was just outside the Airport’s front door, parked along the curb.

Harry now understood why Carlisle was so quick to assure him the last car was a rental. If he’d had cars like this at home, he wouldn’t let anyone think he drove less either. It was a black Mercedes. Shiny and beautiful, it rode low to the ground. The wheels were black as well, giving it a fierce look that Harry loved. He suspected it looked like little more than a shadow at speed. Still, none of that was what held his eye. The girl leaning against the passenger side door did.

She was stunning in a way Harry had never seen, and it was quite a testament to her that Harry thought so since he had never paused enough to think about girls as pretty. He was only eleven. Concepts of beauty and attractiveness hasn’t yet entered his head. Still, this girl was impossibly perfect. The same pale skin as Carlisle, the same lithe movements. Her hair was black though, cut pixie like close to her head. Her eyes were also a different color than Carlisle’s. Not red like Harry momentarily feared. They were still gold, but duller. Like they were tarnished. Harry wondered why that was.

In the time it took Harry to think all of this, the girl pushed herself off of the Mercedes and danced gracefully across the space between them, stopping in front of Harry to kiss him on the cheek. Harry startled, his entire body tensing at a multitude of things. Not the least of which was that an unfamiliar Vampire he knew nothing about had just put her lips remarkably close to his neck and he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that. Never mind that her lips had been extremely cold.

“Alice,” Carlisle chastised the girl beside him. “Overexuberance.”

Alice seemed unperturbed. “Don’t worry, Carlisle. Harry and I are going to be the best of friends.” An impish little smile adorned her face suddenly. “Well, not the _best_ friends, but certainly we’ll be close.”

She stroked his cheek with her thumb as she said that, and Harry found he couldn’t find the strength to discourage her. For reasons unknown to himself, Harry somehow didn’t doubt that what she said was true.

Carlisle, though, looked at her oddly. He paused for a long moment and then asked speculatively, “Rosalie?”

Alice turned her impish smile onto him. “Who else?”

They moved on from the conversation. Harry heaved his trunk towards the back of the car almost regretfully. This was a very nice car. He didn’t want to tarnish it with his own imperfect presence, let alone the presence of his beaten and battered trunk. It was while he was ruminating on this that he felt the weight of it lift from his hands. Alice was beside him now, placing the unwieldy luggage into the trunk of the car without a care in the world. She saw him looking and winked, smiling. That done, Alice danced around the car. Carlisle’s hand on her shoulder stopped her.

“Passenger seat,” he told her, smiling. Harry scrunched his eyebrows in confusion but then remembered that he was in America. From his viewpoint, Alice had already been by the passenger seat when Carlisle had redirected her.

“Carlisle!” Alice protested.

Carlisle laughed, the sound deep and melodic like tolling bells. “I don’t want to scar him on his first day, Alice. You can take him for a drive later.”

Alice pouted, as she opened the door for Harry to climb into the backseat. He had to squeeze in between the car’s frame and the plush leather passenger seat. “Have you seen his face?” Alice grumbled behind him. “He’s already scarred.”

Harry didn’t know if this was a reference to the zigzagging lightning bolt on his forehead or his panicked mental state that he was certain showed on his face. Either way it was funny, and Harry chuckled. He saw Carlisle roll his eyes as Alice grinned coyly.

“-corrupting-” Harry heard Carlisle mutter amidst a string of other words that came out too fast and quiet for him to hear. Alice laughed at whatever it was he had said.

It took Harry a moment to adjust to the Mercedes’ interior light. It was dark. It was very dark. The windows were tinted so darkly, that Harry could only just make out the car’s dashboard, outlined by the glow of its electronic components that told him how much gas they had left and how fast they were going. If Harry stared too long at that particular needle it started to make him nervous - Carlisle was going much faster here than he had ever done back in Britain - and so he concentrated on staring out the window, trying to make sense of the blurred images they were flying by. It was a long ride, even at this speed and Carlisle recommended he get some sleep. Harry was tempted - jet lag was very real, and he had spent _hours_ in one form of travel or another today - but he found that sleep wouldn’t take him the one time he had actually given it a go. Even if he had not been in a car with two Vampires he wasn’t yet entirely comfortable with, there was too much going on to sleep.

Harry was farther from home than he had ever been, not that, that was saying much. He was in a whole other country, wholly different from his own. And the company he was keeping would have turned the heads of anyone he knew even if it was only to scream in fear. What Dumbledore had been thinking, Harry didn’t know, but he did know that he was starting to trust Carlisle. The man seemed nothing but sincere about everything he had told him about, and he had been exceptionally honest about it all. All of Harry’s questions about Vampires had been answered with parental patience. He had demonstrated what few talents he could on the plane when Harry had requested that he do so. He talked in depth of his past. The story of his upbringing was amazing, not the least of which because of how long ago it was. He had, surprisingly, not talked much about his family in the time on the plane. Enough to assure Harry he had nothing to fear from them, but that was it.

“They’re very excited to meet you,” he had explained, “and I’m afraid they would be very upset with me if I spoiled the surprises.”

If they were all like Alice, Harry wasn’t sure he’d survive the summer. She was a very mischievous young woman. Harry winced against his mental description. Whatever her looks might have said, Alice was certainly not young.

She kept pleasant conversation throughout most of the ride, asking him questions about his friends and what he liked to do for fun subtly trying to make Harry notice her not-so-subtle distaste for his clothes. At some point during the ride, she’d given up on the pretense of not talking to him and had turned completely around in her seat. Her chin was resting on the shoulder of the seat, and she seemed completely irreverent to the dizzying speed her father was traveling.

Harry answered her questions as easily as she asked them. It wasn’t really a conscious decision. Alice put him at ease. She talked eagerly and listened more than happily. Her commentary on his misadventures at Hogwarts showed no sign of any kind of reaction beyond enjoyment, but Harry imagined he saw something darker flit behind her eyes. Was he crazy or had Carlisle’s grip tightened ever so slightly on the wheel?

The ride was long. It took just over two hours to get from Seattle to the border of small-town Forks, Washington. Even then, Carlisle didn’t slow his pace. Carlisle drove as if he couldn’t see the speed limit markers. As if police officers didn’t exist. Then suddenly the car wasn’t moving. No, it was. But compared to the outrageous speed the car had been moving before, thirty-five miles an hour seemed to be a standstill. The reason for the slowness became quickly apparent. Carlisle was turning the car off of the main road, down a secluded driveway that wound through the trees like a snake.

Harry couldn’t help but gape. He ought not have been surprised. If the Cullen’s cars were this nice, why wouldn’t their home match the opulence? Still, it was a wonder. Nestled into the trees like it was a natural part of the landscape, the house - although manor would probably have been a better word - was squared, with a sharply sloping roof and white paneling that had been weathered away to a cream color by the years. Windows adorned its front face, allowing for a vast amount of natural light. He supposed here at home, the Cullens didn’t need to worry about hiding from the sun.

“Welcome home, Harry,” Alice said, smiling. She had turned back around in her seat when Carlisle had turned onto the driveway. “For the summer, anyway.”

For the first time since he’d discovered Carlisle’s secret, Harry felt at ease again. He didn’t think there was anything within that house that could make him feel anything but at home. He allowed himself a moment to grin at what his Aunt and Uncle would do to get a house halfway as magnificent as this one.

“Perhaps you’d like to let Hedwig out to stretch her wings, Harry?” Carlisle suggested lightly after Harry didn’t move for several moments. “She’s been cooped up quite some time.”

That shocked Harry awake. His oldest and truest friend. How had he forgotten? From her position in the seat beside him, she looked quite miffed at him for the oversight. Harry took a firm grip on her cage and scooted out of the car as fast as he could. She was out and free before his fingers had fully opened the cage’s latch. He watched her soar up and about, testing the new air with her wings, seeing the new land with her eyes. She seemed as amazed by their new setting as he did. Suddenly she dived, disappearing into the thick trees. Harry thought that it would be a while before he’d see her again.

Carlisle led him inside, holding Harry’s trunk on his shoulder with one hand as he did, and Harry took another moment to gawk at the house as he passed under its porch. It was even more beautiful from outside of the Mercedes’ darkly tinted window. Inside was a welcoming party.

Five more Vampires - and Harry knew instantly that they were, having become intimately familiar with the distinguishing features at this point - waited for him in the house’s living room. Three were men - two slight figured blondes and a hulking beast of a man with close cropped black hair and big grin on his face - and the other were two women. They were stunning the both of them, just like Alice, but Harry though that he had never seen a creature as intrinsically beautiful as the young-looking blonde woman who stood, leaning into the largest man’s weight.

“Harry,” Carlisle spoke in a very welcoming tone, as if this was the first time they were speaking, “this is my family. My wife, Esme,” he gestured to the other woman in the room with the caramel colored hair that framed her face. She smiled at him adoringly, and Harry felt no unease at the Vampire’s stare. Such a face seemed incapable of negative emotion. “My oldest son, Edward.” Edward was the only one sitting, leaned against the back of the couch with an easygoing expression on his face. He nodded at Harry without much of any emotion. Harry returned the expression, content with the Vampire’s neutrality. “My youngest son, Jasper. He’s Alice’s partner.” Alice skipped across the room to stand beside the Vampire in question. He was the only one who looked mostly disinterested in Harry. His eyes were entirely for the pixie shaped Vampire who had just danced into his arms, but he did smile at Harry in greeting. “And those two are Emmett and Rosalie.” Harry looked to Emmett first, of course. The man’s immense size didn’t allow for him to do anything else, but when he had returned the Vampire’s energetic wave, Harry’s eyes slid to the final Vampire in the room and they stayed there.

Rosalie met his gaze with a mix surprising warmth and a strange reluctance. Her golden hair fell past her shoulders in beautiful ringlets that perfectly matched the bright gold of her eyes. There was a permanent smile on her face that Harry realized was directed at him, and it made him unexplainably happy to see it. She waved at him, less energetically than Emmett had, but somehow more genuinely at the same time. Harry waved back.

“Come on, Harry,” Carlisle gestured for him to follow as he moved up the stairs. “I’ll show you where you’re sleeping.”

Carlisle led him up the curving stairway and to the right, past a series of doors he did not stop to show him. Harry assumed he would get a more official tour later, or else he would be free to wander as he pleased. His room was at the end of the hall. It was large and spacious - certainly larger than anything he had slept in before - and the far wall was made entirely of glass. He had a magnificent view of the forest outside his window and, below him, the winding river the Cullens’ house had been built beside.

“It’s…” Harry stumbled over his words, his throat suddenly somewhat thick. Here, in the man’s home and surrounded by his family, Harry actually felt guilty about how he had been thinking of the Cullens. “It’s wonderful, Carlisle. Thank you so much.”

Carlisle smiled and patted him reassuringly on the shoulder, as if sensing his thoughts. “Edward will be pleased to hear you say that.” He noticed Harry’s confused look and continued, “This is his room. He has graciously volunteered to let you have it for the summer.”

Harry was immediately backtracking. “No!” he protested. “No, no! I don’t need to take somebody’s room. I can sleep on the couch.”

“You’re not taking anything from me,” Edward assured him from the doorway. When he had arrived, Harry didn’t know. He suspected he’d have to get used to that in this house. “When I need a CD, I’ll come get one. Or a book. Or a movie. You get the gist.”

“Where will you sleep?”

Edward chuckled as if Harry had said something funny, and he disappeared. Harry thought he heard him downstairs talking with someone and then more laughter. Beside him, Carlisle sighed.

“I keep forgetting,” Carlisle muttered under his breath. “Alright, Harry. More Vampire lessons.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: Harry gets a personal demonstration of a Vampire’s strength


	3. Chapter 3

Harry was surprised when he woke up. Surprised because he didn’t remember going to sleep. He tried to think. To recall what it was he had been doing. He remembered talking with Carlisle a while longer, learning yet more things about Vampires that had never been covered in his Hogwarts curriculum. The news that they never slept, nor ever felt the need to sleep, had floored him. He couldn’t imagine how he’d cope with that. He got bored enough with the twelve hours he had to spend awake as it is. Carlisle had thought that was funny at the time and assured him that they had plenty of hobbies.

Esme had appeared not long after that with a plate of food for him. A simple meal of meat and potatoes that Harry wolfed down eagerly. Not long after that, Alice had visited him with a set of silken pajamas that were in every way too big for him - Jasper’s, she had explained. She apologized about their size, resolutely ignoring his protests at her gift in the first place and promised him they’d take a trip to Seattle soon to give him a new wardrobe. She was out the door before he could complain about _that_. Harry could have sworn he’d heard someone - or several male someones - laughing at that interaction. Harry somehow didn’t think he’d be getting out of that shopping trip.

After that, Harry couldn’t remember. He had not laid down, having felt very wired at the time. He remembered examining Edward’s music collection which largely housed artists from long before he was born that he didn’t recognize the names of. Harry wished he’d had The Beatles. Harry liked The Beatles. The last thing Harry remembered was changing into the far too big pajamas - they were just so soft - and then...well, then he woke up.

Sitting up in the bed that was easily three times bigger than his bed at the Dursleys, Harry rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He yawned and looked around. Again, he was surprised. Going by the light outside, it was well into the day. He supposed the constant cloud cover had spared him the light waking him up. Harry slid out of bed and looked around for the clothes he’d had on yesterday. They were nowhere to be seen. Harry winced. He didn’t know who had been in here cleaning up after him in the night, but he’d have to endeavor to do better. He was a guest here, after all. He didn’t want to push their hospitality.

It wasn’t until he flipped open his trunk that he began to think that his missing clothes were not a result of his negligence. Not just his clothes on the floor were missing. His entire trunk was empty of every article of clothing he had ever worn, barring the underwear and the socks. His school robes also remained untouched. But as for everything else? Harry had no shorts or shirts and pants or anything to put on for the day. He threw his hands up into the air, a good three four inches of sleeve flapping about wildly from where his arm didn’t reach. What was he supposed to do, stay in pajamas all day? They were soft, but they weren’t that soft.

He noticed then, the clothes hanging from a hook on the door of the bedroom which was shut tight - something he had not done the night before. It was a shirt - a very beautiful looking button down - and a pair of khaki slacks. Pinned to the shirt was a note with a tidy, immaculate little scrawl on it. Harry plucked at it.

_Made a few alterations to some of_

_Edward’s clothes._

_Don’t worry. Seattle soon._

_A_

Harry was very worried.

**_(*)_**

Someone wolf whistled when he came down the stairs, and Harry bent his head in a blush. It took him a moment, but he kept walking down, looking up quickly enough to see Rosalie swat Emmett upside the head. It sounds like someone banging rocks together to make sparks. Emmett only grinned at her and Harry in turn.

Alice was in front of him when he reached the bottom of the stairs where she had not been a moment before. Her hands were all over him, plucking at the shirt and lifting his arms and contorting the fabric. She was done in seconds, smoothing it out, seemingly oblivious to Harry’s discomfort at her closeness.

“Not bad for a guestimate,” Alice allowed, looking him over critically.

“They’re…” Harry swallowed his true feelings. “They’re great, Alice.”

Harry didn’t know why, but the thought of making Alice at all sad seemed like the last thing Harry wanted to do, and it wasn’t out of any fear of Vampiric reprisal.

“You didn’t have to mutilate Edward’s clothes, though,” Harry grumbled.

Edward looked up from the book he’d been reading on the couch. He crooked an eyebrow at him. “Those are my clothes?”

Alice smiled and patted Harry on the cheek. “We all have more clothes than we can remember, Harry,” she assured him. “It’s no problem.”

“So, what happened to my clothes?” Harry dared to ask.

Alice wrinkled her nose as if she smelled something bad. “I don’t really want to call those rags clothes.”

Esme was suddenly behind Alice, her hands placed softly but determinedly on her daughter’s shoulders. “Alice,” she hissed with her ever kind smile on her face, “don’t be rude.”

Alice’s eyes flitted to my face and a mask of guilt flitted across her face. “I’m sorry, Harry,” she genuinely.

“‘S okay,” Harry muttered, trying hard not to kick his feet like a petulant child. He shouldn’t be surprised. His clothes _were_ rags. They were rags everywhere he went but they had never been more like rags than standing amongst the beautiful gods and goddesses of the Cullen household with all of their money and all of their beauty. Still, they were his. They were him. Never mind that they - like almost everything he owned - had been passed down second hand from his cousin.

Some semblance of all of this must have shown on his face, because Alice took both of his hands in her own. Harry fought the urge to pull away. It was chilly this morning, and Alice’s icy hands didn’t help. “I’m going to go work on a list for your new wardrobe,” she said, all smiles again. “Any requests?”

“Not to go?” Harry replied almost involuntarily. Someone - Emmett he thought - laughed.

Alice glared at him without any real heat. Then she kissed him on the cheek and was gone.

Esme shook her head in a very motherly way. Then she righted herself and smiled. “Are you hungry, Harry?” Harry didn’t have the chance to answer before she continued, “Go and sit at the table with Emmett and Rosalie, I’ll have breakfast ready in a jiff.”

She too disappeared with such speed that Harry didn’t even see a blur. Harry would have to decide if he was going to get annoyed by that or continue to be impressed by it.

With nothing else to do, Harry did as he was told, crossing across the open expanse of space between the stairs and the dining room table. Harry didn’t know why the Cullens had a kitchen table at all. It wasn’t as if they ate - another lesson Carlisle had told him about last night. He wasn’t arrogant enough to believe they had gone out and bought one just because he was coming over. Especially one as expensive as this. Then again, Harry thought, they didn’t seem to be lacking in money.

Harry sat himself awkwardly at the head of the table. Rosalie and Emmett were sat across from each other, a chess board in between them. They looked well into the match, but Harry didn’t know enough about the game to see who was winning. Ron had tried very hard throughout the entire year to get him into the game but having now been a part of a live game, Harry didn’t think he’d ever develop the taste.

“Good morning,” Harry said just awkwardly as he had sat down.

Rosalie took one of Emmett’s bishops with her pawn. “Afternoon actually. You slept a long time.” Then she looked at him and smiled. “But good afternoon, Harry.”

“How’s it going, Fairy Godmother?” Emmett said in response.

On the couch, Edward sighed. “Emmett, I’ve been listening to you flip through every pop culture reference to wizards and witches and magic that you know for the last three hours and _that’s_ the one you decided to settle on?”

Rosalie smiled, but Harry was confused. Had Emmett just been sitting here talking about every movie he’d ever seen with a wand in it? Harry expected that had gotten annoying.

“How did you sleep, Harry?” Rosalie asked him, her eyes on the board. She seemed much more focused on it than Emmett who very casually moved his Rook up parallel with Rosalie’s Queen.

“Good,” Harry answered automatically, and then thought about how to expand on that. Clearly, Rosalie was doing her best to make conversation. He would meet her halfway. “Really good, actually. I mean clearly. That bed is so soft.”

Harry had a sudden thought.

“Why do Vampires need beds if they don’t sleep?”

Rosalie, halfway through moving a pawn, stuttered in the movement slightly before she placed the piece down. Emmett, however, laughed heartily. “I’ll tell you when you’re older,” he winked at Harry.

“Emmett,” Rosalie hissed warningly, which only caused Emmett to laugh more.

Harry didn’t know much, but he knew enough to know that, that was an embarrassing question to have asked, and so he blushed.

“Well come on, Har,” Emmett continued smoothly, gesturing with his broad hands across the table at Harry. “Show us some magic. Not often we come across one of you guys who doesn’t immediately try to kill us.”

Harry ducked his head. “I can’t actually,” he apologized. “I’m not allowed to use magic outside of school.”

“That’s not actually true, Harry.” Harry looked up. Edward was leaning against the doorway, his book closed around a single finger to hold his place. “You’re safe to use whatever magic you like here.”

“But Hagrid-” Harry stopped himself. “My-one of my teachers told me I can’t use magic outside of school. That it’s against the law.”

Emmett snorted at his mention of the law even as Edward was nodding. “Very true,” Edward agreed with him. “In Britain. American laws work differently, and, besides that, they don’t monitor for British nationals. The Traces they use are different. Use any spell you like. Neither nation will know while you’re here.”

Rosalie twisted in her chair to stare at her brother. “Since when are you an expert on International Wizarding Law?”

Edward shrugged. “I was in New York in the 20s when everything went very badly with a Dark Wizard. I became _interested_.”

Harry hadn’t even heard the last exchange - although some part of him did squirrel the information of Edward in the 20s away for later questioning. He was floored. “I can do magic? I can still do magic?” He was elated. Over the moon. Knowing he’d have to be separated from something so intrinsic to who he was had severely depressed him with the summer months upcoming. Now he had no such hindrance.

“Wonderful!” Emmett exclaimed, sounding impatient. “So, show us some!”

Harry was nodding eagerly. “I just need my wand!” he assured them. “It’s in my trunk! I’ll-”

Emmett was gone for just under two seconds. He reappeared in his seat and Harry found his wand sitting on the table in front of him. Emmett gestured grandly, waiting. Harry wondered how eager he was to make some snide joke if he happened to fail. Still, they were all watching. Not just Emmett but Rosalie and Edward too. Even Alice had pranced out of her room to lean over the upstairs railing.

Harry picked his wand up off the table, relishing in its familiar texture and took a deep breath. He remembered with crystal clarity the bathroom incident with Ron and Hermione. A blundering troll and life-threatening danger. It had been Ron that had dealt the finishing blow whilst Harry clung precariously to the troll’s neck.

Harry pointed his wand at Rosalie’s king piece on the chessboard and said, “Wingardium Leviosa!”

The chess piece rose obediently, hovered in the air for a few seconds and then fell into Rosalie’s waiting palm. Everyone clapped politely. Harry felt very happy with himself.

“Not bad, kid,” Emmett congratulated him. Then his smile turned into more of a smirk and he said, “Seen better.”

A strong mixture of anger, frustration and embarrassment rose up from Harry’s chest and into his face. It burned red and Harry’s grip tightened on his wand. Vaguely, he thought he might have heard Rosalie hissing angrily at Emmett, but he didn’t register it. Words were already spilling out of his mouth.

“Well what about you, Emmett?” he heard himself saying. “How about you show me what you can do? Or are you too afraid of a little sunburn?”

It took Harry a moment to register the silence in the room at his words and, try though he might, he could not figure out the emotion behind it. Emmett stared at him unblinkingly across the table, and Harry worried he had offended. Then a slow, evil grin began to spread across Emmett’s face, and Harry began to worry that he hadn’t.

“Oh kid,” Emmett whispered gleefully, “you’re gonna regret that.”

“Emmett!” Rosalie snapped in the same warning voice she’d used earlier, but it was too late. Two ice cold anacondas wrapped around Harry’s body, effortlessly picking him up and carrying him two hundred feet out the door in the time it took to blink.

Harry tried to open his eyes, but the wind was beating his hair against his face savagely, and it cut into his eyes enough to cause tears. Angling his head towards his captor, he could see enough to know that Emmett was carrying him bridal style in a vice like grip with a grin on his face that would have frightened a far stronger man than Harry. Harry tried to make sense of where they were, but the images were blurring by too fast to make any real sense of them. A forest. That was all he could tell.

Then, abruptly, Emmett stopped. But Harry didn’t. The Boy-Who-Lived continued moving, soaring out of Emmett’s arms and into the open air. He flew like a bird, the momentum of his movement carrying him with sickening ease right off the cliff that Emmett had thrown him off of.

Harry remembered watching a cartoon through the cracked door of his cupboard once. There had been a coyote holding up a sign that said ‘HELP’. He had hovered in the air for several seconds until he had looked down and only then did he fall. Harry felt like that now. He had a moment - at the apex of Emmett’s toss - of perfect clarity wherein he heard one voice shout out a shrill and furious “_Emmett!!_” even as three other voices called out a much more frightened “Harry!”

Then Harry was falling. Plummeting. Plunging. The wind whipped around him with such ferocity it almost hurt. He was deaf, unable to even hear his own screaming which he was positive that he was doing because his throat was burning. He couldn’t orient himself. He didn’t know if he was facing up or down, left or right. He didn’t know what the ground looked like, let alone how far away it was. Harry thought for one sickening moment that this was not the way he wanted to die.

And then those two anaconda arms wrapped right around him again, he heard what he would forever recognize after this moment as Emmett’s laugh and then they were on the ground. Emmett’s impact left a decent sized crater in the ground, but other than the noise Harry wouldn’t have known. They had landed very softly. Emmett set Harry down and then immediately caught him as he all but toppled over.

Still laughing, the Vampire said, “That’s what I can do, Wizard boy.”

Harry had only one thought in his head, and he voiced it. “Can we do it again!?”

**_(*)_**

Emmett got a lot of ribbing from Esme and Rosalie for his stunt, but he took it in stride so well that Harry thought he likely heard it a lot. Regardless, he had actually made a sudden grab for Harry and recreated the cliff dive as Harry had requested on the way back to the house. The both of them laughing hysterically, they had caught back up the others in time to see Rosalie all but attacking Edward for “not intervening when he saw it coming”. That didn’t make much sense to Harry. It wasn’t as if Edward could have known what Emmett was about to do. Either way Edward took it stride just as well as Emmett had and ruffled Harry’s hair as they made their way back to the house at a more relaxed pace. It looked better than it ever had. Very windswept.

The rest of the day had passed without any incident. Esme had fed him three delicious meals that he couldn’t help feeling guilty for eating. Here he was, invading their home for the summer and his presence was already forcing them out of comfort zones. Esme couldn’t even eat for Merlin’s sake. He would have to talk to her about taking over in the kitchen. It wasn’t like the Dursleys hadn’t taught him how to run a kitchen. To his great chagrin, Alice had delivered five more outfits to him, all of which had been altered from either Edward or Jasper’s clothes. She had taken his exact measurements amidst his protests, then winked at him and dashed off, muttering something about which tailor she would use. Harry was looking less and less forward to that shopping trip. He had played a few games of chess with Jasper, most of which he lost - though he had pulled out one pretty impressive victory. Then he had played three games with Edward, all of them the shortest games of chess in his life. He didn’t know what it was, but Edward seemed capable of guessing each and every one of his next five moves. It didn’t help that he had looked very amused the entire time.

Now Harry was in his room, dressed again in the irresistibly comfortable silken pajamas that Alice had provided him with. He had put his foot down on her altering them, claiming he couldn’t stand for her to mutilate any more of the Cullen’s clothes. Really, though, he just liked them. He liked how they felt. He liked how they hung like curtains over his petite body. They had been a gift - the first gift he’d gotten from this strange family that had taken him in - and he didn’t want them changed at all. Alice had been very put out, but Edward had somehow convinced her with a quick whisper in her ear. Harry raised his arms, smiling at the way the sleeves hung off of the end of his hands. They were halfway to the floor.

There came a knock at the door, and Harry pushed the sleeves all the way to his shoulders. “Come in,” he called.

Rosalie opened the door and stepped in. As always, Harry was taken aback by her. Alice was beautiful, to be certain, and Esme had the loving air of an angel to match her face. But Rosalie seemed different. Harry suspected that Alice and Esme had both been very pretty women before they had changed, but that Rosalie had been a true beauty in her human life. It seemed Vampirism only did so much. It had to have a base to work off of, and Rosalie had, had a good one.

“Esme asked me to be sure you had everything,” she told him lightly. Harry observed closely how far away from him she stood. She was practically hugging the wall, and when she moved, she did so slowly. Harry didn’t know if this was a response to Harry’s...upbringing or to his first reaction to the Cullens being Vampires, but he didn’t like it either way. “Forgive her if she’s overbearing. We don’t spend much time around humans. She wants to be sure she doesn’t forget your needs.”

Harry smiled. “Tell Esme she’s been wonderful,” he said sincerely. “You all have. I promise you don’t have to try this hard. I’m okay by myself, you know. You don’t have to feel obligated to...to make me feel at home or anything.”

Rosalie waved him off. “You aren’t a burden, Harry,” she assured him. Her smile took on an impish quality similar to Alice’s. “And Esme enjoys spoiling you. She always wanted children, and as much as she loves us, we don’t have actual needs she can enjoy herself seeing to.”

“Still,” Harry muttered, trailing off. Suddenly, he looked up. “Rosalie? Thank you.”

Rosalie tilted her head. “For what?”

“For taking me in,” Harry replied. “For letting me stay here.”

She did not let go of her look of confusion. “You should thank, Carlisle,” she told him. “He was your Headmaster’s old friend, after all.”

“I have,” he said. “I’m thanking all of you. This is still your house. You’re letting me be here. And I know hard it must be being this...well, with me being human and all. So, thank you.”

Rosalie considered him for a long moment - so long, indeed that Harry worried he may have said something wrong. Then she said, “You can call me, Rose. I know ‘Rosalie’ is quite an old-fashioned name for the time.”

Harry smiled. “My best friend’s name is Hermione,” he told her.

Rosalie matched his expression and nodded. “Rosalie, then.” She turned to the door.

“Rose!” Harry called after her, almost involuntarily. “I...I like Rose.”

The grin on her face was truly stunning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: It’s important to note that this story is not the magnum opus of my writing efforts. Truth be told, I’m not putting an absurd amount of effort into this story. This is not my attempt to provoke outrageous emotion from a reader and produce the next Delenda Est or Prince of Slytherin, both of which are amazing stories you should read if you haven’t. All praise to Lord Silvere for producing my absolute favorite fanfiction ever which I still read once a year, and all praise to The Sinister Man for consistently updating one of the greatest AU, Wrong-Boy-Who-Lived stories ever written. If I can grow to be half the author those two are or have half the influence on the fandom that they had, I will be happy indeed. Hats off, gentleman. I say all this to tell you that this story is one written solely for the fun of writing it. It was a light-hearted, feel good story I wanted to pursue out of both my love for Harry Potter and Twilight. So if in the future, things tend to come to quick conclusions (you’ll see in Chapter 5), just please be aware that it’s a conscious choice on my part to gloss over unnecessary character drama that I just don’t feel like writing for this particular story. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy my work all the same.  
In other news, I have corrected a few glaring typos in the last chapter. I apologize for those, I could have sworn I edited the chapter properly before posting.  
Next Time: Harry addresses a depressing lack of mail


	4. Chapter 4

Life at the Cullens fell into a routine faster than Harry would have ever believed possible. The Cullens certainly weren’t a normal family, but they were a family nonetheless. As such, they came with their own quirks and habits that Harry picked up on fairly quickly. Carlisle and Esme were the rocks, sure and stout. When Carlisle was there, he was happy to answer any and every question Harry might have, no matter the subject. Being as old as he was, he had a wealth of knowledge to draw on. Esme was the quintessential caring mother, at least as far Harry had always imagined the quintessential caring mother to be. She took extreme joy in cooking for him, although he had managed to convince her to let him handle his own breakfasts and lunches. Most days. Alice was the most outgoing of the Cullen ‘children’, and large portions of his day were spent dodging her attempts to corral him into a car and drag him off to the Cullens’ personal tailor. Emmett and Edward were extremely similar, at least as far as Harry was concerned. They watched TV with him, played games with him, helped him dodge Alice, took him for blisteringly fast piggy back rides and generally did their best to entertain him. Of all of them, Harry interacted with Jasper the least, something he considered to be a shame. He enjoyed Jasper’s soft-spoken, southern accent, and for some reason he always felt calmer around the Vampire. As for Rosalie, she was his favorite. Of all of them, she was the most consistent in her time with him. At least once a day, she would plunk him in the passenger seat of her shiny, red convertible and treat him to a joyride that would have the world’s worst speed demon wetting his pants. It would almost always be followed up by an unhealthy meal that would have curled Esme’s lip, something Harry suspected was the only reason Rosalie was indulging him.

Today, though, was a particularly special day for Harry. He had been with the Cullens a month. A month of the best summer of his life. Of joyrides and laughter and in-jokes and delicious meals and more of a family atmosphere than Harry had ever experienced in his entire life – even at Hogwarts! A month of learning incredible new things, a month of practicing magic he thought he would surely forget over the summer at the Dursleys, a month of chipping away at his homework with Edward’s help. A month of sleeping till noon and staying up till one, watching scary movies with Emmett and Alice. A month of being taught how to throw knives by an infinitely patient Jasper. A month of absolutely no contact whatsoever from the world he had left behind.

And that, unfortunately, was the sticking point. It was the single dark cloud hanging over him. This summer had, so far, been the best of his life. The only time he had been this happy had been at Hogwarts, and, if anything, he was even happier here since he had an absolutely horrid series of summers to compare it to. But, however happy he was here, he knew that it wasn’t his home. Nothing had been said of Harry’s future with the Cullens. He knew that Carlisle had agreed to house him for the summer, at the end of which he would be returned to King’s Cross station and sent back to Hogwarts. Beyond that, Harry had no idea what would happen. But he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Hogwarts was waiting. He had six more years at the school. It was a fixed fact. And to have had no contact at all from any of the friends he had thought he’d made was starting to weigh heavily on the young man’s mind.

It was made worse by the fact that he had hardly been idle all that time. He had sent five letters to Ron and four to Hermione, all through Hedwig who had, bless her soul, been working like a trooper. Harry didn’t know exactly how international owl post worked, but Hedwig always returned within a few days, and she had never come back with any of the letters he’d sent out, leading him to believe that they had simply gone ignored. Harry had even sent two separate letters to Hagrid, and the giant man’s silence had hurt Harry particularly deeply. His first ever contact with the magical world and arguably his first friend, and Harry had not heard so much as a peep from him.

Oh, Harry didn’t let it show. He put a smile on his face, and he laughed at Emmett’s terrible jokes and laughed harder at Edward’s witty responses to them. He rolled his eyes at Alice’s latest badgerings, and pleaded with Esme to stop spending so much money on meals he was only going to eat once! It wasn’t hard, really, to put on an act. He _was_ enjoying his time with the Cullens immensely. But, deep down, he was hurting, and he was beginning to believe he had not been nearly as good at hiding it as he had thought.

Harry had only woken up a few minutes ago and, like normal, he’d gotten straight out of bed and began to head downstairs. He always made himself a light breakfast before he showered and properly got ready for the day. Today, though, he hadn’t made it to the kitchen. He hadn’t even made it down the stairs. Halfway to the staircase, he had overheard Edward, Alice and Rosalie having a hushed conversation just underneath the banister. He had stopped, careful to be absolutely still. If there was anything he had learned in his time here, it was that it was exceptionally difficult to hide something. The Cullens heard _everything_. It seemed particularly difficult to get anything past Edward and, to a lesser extent, Alice.

Careful to hold completely still, Harry even went so far as to hold his breath. He was listening intently, for he had heard his name.

“-take ‘no’ for an answer, today,” Edward was saying. “He needs a distraction”

Rosalie huffed. “You don’t actually think he’s going to enjoy it, do you? He hasn’t been dodging it for a month just for our amusement.”

“Like it matters,” Alice responded. Harry had a mental image of her waving her hand flippantly. The image matched her tone of voice. “He needs to have some money spent on him. God knows he hasn’t had enough spent on him.”

“Keep a lid on that kind of talk,” Edward told her sternly. “He hates when you say things like that.”

“Right,” Rosalie drew the word out. “So you want to stick him in a confined space he can’t escape from with Alice for several hours to be used as her personal dress up doll? I’m sure that’ll cheer him up.”

“I’m not that bad!” Alice squawked.

“It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t like it,” Edward replied. “At least he’ll be upset over something other than his friends’ radio silence.”

Silently, Harry frowned. How had Edward known? Harry supposed he could accept that his efforts to come across perfectly happy had failed, but to know that it was specifically because he hadn’t heard from his friends? It wasn’t as if Harry had a journal where he wrote this stuff down, and even if he did, Edward was not the type to snoop in it.

They were silent for a few moments, and when Rosalie spoke next there was such an undercurrent of anger in her voice that Harry suspected she had, had to take a moment to collect herself. “’Friends’,” she said with a scoff. “Little bastards. Where do they get off?”

At that moment, Harry’s body decided it couldn’t take it anymore and exhaled the breath it had been holding. It was little more than a light huff, barely audible, but all sound from the floor below him stopped immediately. Harry blinked, and Alice was in front of him, smiling widely. Harry tried to look as natural as possible.

“Harry,” she greeted happily, not at all fooled. “Listen, after you have breakfast, be sure to wear your best clothes. We’re going to Seattle today.”

Immediately, Harry protested. “Alice, I don’t-,” he began.

“No!” Alice cut him off. “We’re going. That’s final. Just think, it’s one day and then you won’t have to hear me nag you about it anymore.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “What so you can move onto something else? My hair, maybe?”

Alice tilted her head and ran her pale fingers through it idly. “Well, it could use a little work,” she commented.

“_Alice!_” someone shouted from deeper into the house. It sounded like Rosalie.

Alice huffed. “Oh fine. Just trust me, Harry, okay? It’s gonna be a fun day.”

She gave him a cute little wink and vanished.

**_(*)_**

It was not a fun day.

Alright, well Harry supposed that was being a bit unfair. The time spent with Alice herself had been remarkably fun. Harry enjoyed any and every bit of time spent with any of the Cullens, and Alice herself was arguably the most laid back of any of them. The time spent under the attentions of the _three separate tailors_ that Alice had drug him too had most certainly not been fun. Harry had been poked and prodded and measured and maneuvered endlessly. His body was contorted like a mannequin’s into various poses as fabric was hung off his limbs and wrapped around his extremities. Harry was extremely glad that the Cullens had gotten him at least somewhat used to casual physical contact or Harry expected he would have been cringing and wincing throughout the entire ordeal. What felt like hundreds of fabrics were shown to him for no reason whatsoever as it was Alice who made literally every decision. The fabrics were all light grays and deep blacks with occasional splashes of green or silver thrown in, something Harry was not a fan of, being a Gryffindor. At the very least they had never been combined together. Harry’s only personal request of the day was at least a few articles that included one or both of the Gryffindor colors.

And, though he was loathe to give Alice the smug satisfaction, Harry would admit that he was rather fond of the wardrobe she had crafted for him. It was lots of perfectly cut button downs, made of soft fabrics. He had turtleneck sweaters and long-sleeve t’s. Scarves of deep red and rich gold. His pants were all absurdly comfortable slacks with a bit wider of a color range. There was white and a gray and tan and black and blue and even a few deep greens, reds and purples. Harry had, at the end of it, looked at it all, rather impressed. Not only did it all look good, it also felt amazing to wear. And, what’s more, Alice had done him an enormous favor. Having no knowledge whatsoever of fashion and color combination and what works and what doesn’t, she had seemingly built his wardrobe around the ability to mix and match any top with any bottom and it come out looking wonderful. Truly, Harry had never worn anything like it in his life.

All told, the trip had cost more money than Harry thought his vault had, and it had taken the better part of seven hours, not counting the lengthy rides to and from Seattle. Harry had thanked Alice so often, she had actually started to threaten further shopping trips if he didn’t stop thanking her. It had worked, but the gratitude he felt for her and the Cullen’s kindness had shown brightly in his eyes.

Edward had been right, it seemed. Whether or not he had enjoyed every second of his and Alice’s shopping trip – and he certainly hadn’t – he had not thought at all about the situation regarding his friend. Even now, mere miles away from the Cullen’s home, Harry’s thoughts were otherwise occupied. They were occupied by the beautiful faces of the most unlikely group of people Harry could have possible imagined taking him in. To think that one of the greatest senses of belonging Harry had ever experienced had come from a group of Vampires. Wizarding Britain and its prejudices would eat their shoes if they ever found out the Boy-Who-Lived was living with Vampires in America, and Harry found that he quite liked that.

It struck Harry then that he had been with the Cullens a month. No, that wasn’t right. _That_ had struck earlier that morning along with his depression regarding his friends. No, it struck Harry that he only had two more months to spend with the Cullens. And it also struck him that he didn’t feel like that was anywhere near enough time.

“Alice?” he asked suddenly.

She turned honey-gold eyes upon him. Harry was surprised to find that his heart rate didn’t even stutter at this. He had spent hours in the car with various Cullens, and no matter how long any of them spent looking away from the road, the car never so much as drifted. “Yes?” she asked.

“Thank you,” he told her. Then, seeing the flash of annoyance in her eyes, he hastily continued, “I-I don’t mean for the clothes! I mean-well, I mean thank you for those too, but that’s not what I meant. I just meant-well, thank you. Really, I’m thanking all of you. This…this has been the best summer I’ve ever had. And one of the best months of my life.”

A soft, gleaming smile alighted on the pixyish Vampire’s face, and she reached out to stroke his cheek with the back of her finger’s. Most boys Harry’s age would have shied away from the touch, annoyed and that wasn’t to mention the icy temperature of Alice’s hand. Harry, if anything, leaned into the touch.

“I’m very glad, Harry,” she said. “We’ve all greatly enjoyed having you.”

Harry didn’t want to argue, but he couldn’t help the face that flashed through his mind. “Jasper,” he trailed off. It was true, really. Jasper interacted with him he least of any of the Cullens. He would play games with him – mainly chess or card games – and he would recommend him books and if he was feeling particularly daring, he would teach him some hardcore survivalist skill he seemed to be unilaterally proficient in. All that said, he _never_ touched him. Jasper was always careful to maintain a distance of at least ten feet, and even that was only if someone else was in the room as well. If it happened that Harry entered a room with just Jasper in it, Jasper would immediately leave.

Alice, though, was already shaking her head. “He loves you,” she assured him. “Between you and me, Jasper always wanted a little brother. I think he was miffed when we met Carlisle and he became the youngest.”

Harry frowned. “Isn’t he older than most of you?”

Alice shrugged. “There’s a thousand ways you can judge a Vampire’s age. How old they are physically. How old they are actually. In the Cullen house, you’re aged by the order you joined the family. And that makes Jasper the youngest. So he’s very happy he has you to mentor now.”

Alice said the last part with a delighted, impish smile. It was a smile she reserved for Jasper or talking about Jasper. Harry remained unconvinced. “But,” he tried, only to peter off. He tried and failed again, “He just…”

Alice sighed slightly. “Being a ‘vegetarian’ is hard, Harry. It gets easier, but it’s always hard. And Jasper’s the newest ‘vegetarian’ in the group. He isn’t keeping his distance because he doesn’t like you, Harry. He’s keeping his distance because he does.”

Alice turned the car into the driveway then, and the discussion was over. Harry worried he may have offended Alice by talking about her partner, but if he had she gave no indication. She looked at him with the same smile she always did as she popped the trunk and glided out of the car. There were a hundred bags packed into the BMW’s trunk, and even a Vampire would have to take multiple trips. Harry managed to gather six bags on each arm and strain his way into the house and up the stairs. Inside his room, he plopped the bags down on Edward’s throw couch, careful not to crumple or crush them. Alice had been very explicit about the danger of creases in his clothes.

By the time he finished that and turned around, Alice had deposited the rest of the bags on the floor, having already made multiple trips to and from the car. With all of her dancer grace, Alice pranced across the room in three large strides and pecked Harry on the cheek as was her wont.

“Thanks for being such a good sport today.” She smiled at him once more and was gone.

Harry sighed happily, staring out through the doorway into the empty hallway. Looking around at clothes likely nicer than anything anyone at Hogwarts shy of Draco Malfoy had ever worn, Harry supposed it hadn’t been an entirely bad day.

Then he turned around and came face to face with a short, leathery, bat eared creature with eyes the size of tennis balls and a dirty shawl for clothing. “Harry Potter!” the creature said reverently.

“What the hell!?” Harry exclaimed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: A ‘conversation’ with Dobby and a family meeting

**Author's Note:**

> This story was posted and removed from this site a number of months ago due to my belief at the time that I would be unable to properly support it and my desire to clear stories that would be incomplete from my profile. That will not be the case this time, and you can rest assured that Fostered will be completed. The story will follow Harry through all seven years of Hogwarts, following canon in places and diverging from canon in others. The Cullens will, of course, play a major part in all of this, and the effect of a loving, supportive and powerful family behind Harry will affect the world in various ways.
> 
> Chapters will be posted weekly on Tuesdays.
> 
> Next time: Harry meets the rest of the Cullens.


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